Wednesday, 4 April 2012

Fancy in France

Eya. So it would appear that I’m an aspiring ‘writer’... (And what better subject to tackle than myself- can bullshit about myself FOREVER.) However, after having received far too many ‘n’awww, good try, but no thanks!’ emails from magazines, varying from ‘Elle’ to ‘Good Housekeeping’ (panicked...), I have decided to take matters into my own hands. I am a writer- it’s the only bloody thing I do! I’m going to do it somehow, so this is as good a place as any to start.

On a recent trip to Paris with my American BFF, I tentatively tested the waters and said, ‘Maybe I’ll start a blog...’ Her instinctive reaction was, quote, ‘Your blog would be outrageous!’ And that was all the encouragement I needed.

I’m 21 years old (reverse the numbers and that’s closer to the age I actually feel), and I live in the South of France, in the less-than-happenin’ ville of Millau (known, if at all, only for its viaduct).

I’m here teaching English in a cutie school in an even smaller middle-of-nowhere town than Millau. Mais ne panique pas, because in just over a month’s time I’m going to go from being Heidi, making friends with the goats in the mountains, to being a city gal, confidently strutting onto the metro, briefcase (not sure...) in hand. IN PARIS. Can’t even write that without breaking into a grin/sweat. I have a job there, being a babysitter/English teacher hybrid, and I C A N N O T wait. I mean, it's going to be a disaster, because I’ve never even been able to find my way from one arrondissement to the next, but sometimes disasters are the best kind of fun. Fact is: disasterville or no disasterville, the next few months of my little life are bound to provide me with some stories to share... So share them I will!